<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Invisible by favonius</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602573">Invisible</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/favonius/pseuds/favonius'>favonius</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Boyz (Korea Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Character Study, Clubbing, Drunkenness, M/M, unhappy relationship, vague suggestions of eating disorders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:00:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/favonius/pseuds/favonius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like people feel stress leave their fingertips cold, just like people feel fear strip their throat raw, or perhaps just how people feel love warm up their chests, their faces, their fingertips, Changmin could swear he can feel the club, the music, the bass, resonate with a new, unknown organ buried deep inside of his body.</p>
<p>Title taken from Invisible by Ayria</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi Chanhee | New/Ji Changmin | Q, Ji Changmin | Q/Kim Sunwoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Invisible</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Just like people feel stress leave their fingertips cold, just like people feel fear strip their throat raw, or perhaps just how people feel love warm up their chests, their faces, their fingertips, Changmin could swear he can feel the club, the music, the bass, resonate with a new, unknown organ buried deep inside of his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a type of a god, he thought, the mass consciousness of sweaty bodies seeking freedom. It was a type of prayer, to let his body loose and move it to the rhythm, lucid thought abandoned at the door, with the bouncer, leaving his body as alcohol fills it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some people tried to tell him it’s called alcoholism and a bad behavioral mechanism. He told them they just never partied right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dance floor loved him too, he could feel it in the way he never stumbled too much, never lost his footing. The crowd was a second home, welcoming, hot, beckoning closer with the promise of absolute understanding. No one is looking at you, it said. Everyone wants the same thing. Everyone cares about themselves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was selfish, and so was Changmin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I buy you a drink?” The man in front of him asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Changmin barely registered that they’ve been dancing together. It didn’t matter. The body in front of him was just another vessel for the beat, expendable. All the man did for him was make occupy another second worth of a thought. How is he going to move his body next? What is the next eight count like? How to twist, flow, how to turn your arms next?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lived for the moment, and if the stranger didn’t, that was on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t need one,” he replied, and his voice barely cut through the speakers. “I don’t need… One!” He tried shouting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was more than drunk enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their bodies collided when Changmin moved closer, closer to the heat that was the stranger’s arm, ear, face. It was tempting to just move a little bit closer, let their breaths mix, give in, kiss him. It would be easy. It wouldn’t mean much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some things were more fun, though, just like dancing was, and the stranger didn’t seem to get it. Real creatures of the night didn’t get tired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had this not been the norm, Changmin would have wondered if someone slipped something into his drink to make him this giddy, this ecstatic, this full of energy. No one did, though, and the only thing in Changmin’s veins was the synthesiser, fluid, mixing with the alcohol into a magical concoction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Club bathrooms had their charm, too. They weren’t exactly quiet, they were just deafened from the chatter and the vocals, but just as booming with the bass as the outside. Ever so often someone opened the door and let a wave of sound in. Changmin had to fight it from making his body move again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a place where he could splash his face with cold water. It was a place where he could lean close to the tap and drink, not caring about how the water flows into his shirt. It was a place where he could hide from the stranger who didn’t get the beat, the music,</span>
  <em>
    <span> the prayer</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but at least got the hint.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a place where he could find old acquaintances, apparently, he realized when Chanhee stumbled out of a cubicle, fixing the zipper of  his skinny jeans and fixing his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fancy seeing you there,” he chuckled. It was an elegant sound, as always, but he had the magical concoction in his veins too, Changmin could recognize it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t know you go clubbing,” Changmin countered. It wasn’t a thing that mattered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you with Sunwoo?” Chanhee asked as if he didn’t know the answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Changmin wanted to curse. He didn’t. He took a deep breath and remembered the things that mattered. The beat. The music. The artificial god of dark walls and neon lights and people’s desires commassed in a suffocating room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know where Sunwoo is,” he drove the point home. He wanted to say that Sunwoo is at home, but Sunwoo wasn’t there. Changmin wasn’t even sure where ‘home’ was, beside an address and a mailbox.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you here all alone?” Chanhee stumbled closer. He washed his hands and wiped them on his see through top. It didn’t mean anything when he looked at Changmin’s lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Club corridors were a special place, too. Dimmer. Emptier. More charged with electricity when Changmin’s skin ran against Chanhee’s, trying to find the way, trying to find something to grab onto.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you eat anything today?” Changmin asked just for kicks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chanhee giggled. “I had jello shots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you here all alone?” The words tasted like weapons when Changmin spit them out. Chanhee giggled out a yes. The weapons missed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We had a party,” Chanhee grabbed onto Changmin’s forearms when people passed them. It was easy to get lost in the crowd. Too easy. “I kinda ran though. Went here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t mean anything when Changmin looked at Chanhee’s lips. It only meant he didn’t want to miss the man’s words through the music. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looking for a hookup?” Changmin asked, licking his lips. Another eight count. Another beat. His leg thrummed out the bpm against the soft wall of the corridor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chanhee had just a couple of inches on him. Just enough to cover his entire world when he leaned in. “Maybe,” he giggled. Another eight count. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Funny that we saw each other, then,” another eight count. Another prayer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t mean anything when they looked at each other’s lips. It shouldn’t. It didn't mean much in the past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you wanna do shots by the bar?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Changmin did. They were supposed to stumble towards the light. They were supposed to go and shout their orders at the bartender, wink, spill their drinks on their shirts, live. Be so, so alive. Chanhee wasn’t supposed to grab Changmin’s forearms tighter, slip his thigh between Changmin’s legs, giggle more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Changmin suggested. The song changed. Another eight count. Another beat, smooth, fluent, shooting right into Changmin’s veins, adrenaline.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chanhee wasn’t supposed to lean in closer to Changmin’s neck, slip against the wall, trap him with his hot, lithe body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at me,” Changmin started. That’s what he would say if Chanhee needed a distraction. That’s what he’d say if Chanhee was having a moment, another one, if his head was bobbing limply from side to side, mascara smudged down to his chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He looked at Changmin, hazy, unfocused. Maybe it did mean something when he looked at Changmin’s lips, he thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was easy to move in closer, let their breaths mix. Let their foreheads touch, let their souls crash, clumsy on their tongues, numb against their lips. It was easy to press his mouth to Chanhee’s neck, it was right there, another twist of his body. Another eight count.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The beat resonated at the exact same speed as Changmin’s heart when he licked a stripe up Chanhee’s neck, when he giggled, too, when he started sucking. It was right there, in Chanhee’s greedy fingers that tangled into his clothes, into his hair, into the soft fur of the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow,” Chanhee gasped out, amused, and it sounded like the music, like the newest remix of a well known hit, like something Changmin knew despite not quite having heard it ever before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a lewd sound, Chanhee tipped his head back. More expanse for Changmin to make moves on, to bite, to tease. He would hate the marks, Changmin knew, but it didn’t matter as long as Chanhee didn’t stop him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The music was right there, in his ears, in his stomach, forcing his heart to pump his blood for a few more minutes, for a couple more torturous moments. Changmin wasn’t there, he thought, he was a raw nerve. Just one of the sweaty bodies. Just a part of the magic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed Chanhee’s hair and pulled him in closer, mouth against mouth, tongue on tongue. A kiss, an eight count. A prayer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chanhee pushed him off after both too long and too short. After kissing back. After not kissing back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fuck are you doing?” He snapped, and his body didn’t move to the music anymore. Not to the one in the air, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no point in answering, Changmin thought. “Come on,” he tugged Chanhee closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have Sunwoo,” Chanhee reminded, and his fingernails against Changmin’s forearms were unpleasant, foreign. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t,” Changmin countered. The words were numb on his tongue, like a lie would be, like anything would be in the club corridor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no,” Chanhee wasn’t opposing too strongly, his mouth too close to Changimn’s neck for the words to matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” Changmin begged again. It was so easy to press Chanhee closer. His body was so light, bones right under the skin, soul right under the bones. “Let’s do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a final eight count, Chanhee pulled off. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made absolutely no sense to Changmin. The beat was still in his ears, in his fingers that reached for Chanhee, in his feet that stumbled, carried him from side to side, into the club corridor, into the dark light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re fucking pathetic,” Chanhee was far away when he said that. His voice was sharp. It cut through the speakers clearly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like you’re the one to talk,” was all Changmin could react with to not slump down, to not curl up against the soft wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go fucking call Sunwoo or something,” he spat, and Changmin wanted to call him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You fucking call Sunwoo, let him know you’re in town. Bet he misses you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The music seemed violent and benevolent all at once. It never stopped. Changmin tried to find his place in between the beats, in off rhythm, in the drum kick. It was just barely beyond his reach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” Chanhee shook his head. “Fuck you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he walked away, his footsteps matched the beat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was another bar, unused, empty, another dance floor, almost quiet. Almost dark. Changmin slid down to it, head against his wall, hands bracing him from the impact of the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Definition of dancing. The art of moving your body to the rhythm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded his head desperately, wondering if he should cry or something. Wondering if he should be found by some people. Wondering where the handsome stranger went, if he still wanted to buy him a drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Empty dance floors were like ruined churches, he thought. No god lived in them, ever. Devoid of desire, of honesty, of desperation, they were useless, abandoned for every second when they were not being used.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Time passed quietly. The music was loud, forever. Another eight count. Another prayer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Changmin walked into the smoking area, he forgot he doesn’t smoke. It didn’t matter in the misty, dry, humid room. It didn’t matter whose conversation he cut into.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, care to…” He giggled. “Care to spare a smoke?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone handed him a cigarette. Someone put it into his lips. Someone else lit it. Changmin knew how to take a drag out of it, how to exhale the smoke up, up, away from their faces, creating a vortex, a movement in the still air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he sent the group of friends a smile. His eyes darted across their faces until he found the one that looked back. That smiled back. That bobbed his head to the rhythm from behind the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew he looked hot like that, messed up, drunk, muscles let loose, the purple light painting his cheekbones sharp, lighting his eyes with an artificial fire. It was too easy to send the stranger another cheeky grin. It was numb on his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Changmin,” he would extend a hand, but that didn’t matter much. Another eight count. Another beat resonating through his veins and through his heart, owning his body. He lived for the moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great tattoo,” the stranger grabbed his arm and ran his fingers against it. Hotter than necessary. Ablaze with the music.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He barely took another drag out of the cigarette. “Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to dance?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no, give this to me,” the stranger’s friend reached for the drink that was threatening to spill in the stranger’s hand. Changmin grabbed it instead, and took a long sip out of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was blue and sweet. It was alcoholic. It was a magical concoction, and it ran down Changmin’s throat like a dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Hwanwoong,” the stranger announced. “Wanna dance?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another beat. Another eight count. Another prayer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>